


We’ve Got Younger Faces (Than Our Hearts Are Letting On)

by TheBiSpy



Series: Far Too Young To Die [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AW MAN, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, THIS FUCKING FIC, Teens in love, a solid week ago, ao3 kept crashing, but noooo, have fun, honestly at this point idk, its just, let’s get the serious stuff done, mentions of torture, so I was gonna post it like, wait lemme think, whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 21:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15324936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBiSpy/pseuds/TheBiSpy
Summary: So I was texting Nova super late one night and I decided to write a fic where my bois join the army a lot younger than in the films so here you go I guess.Featuring Bucky dealing with Big Parent Issues, Steve still having hope, Cartinelli as Moms, and Everything Looking Rosy for Three Minutes Before it All Goes to Shit.





	We’ve Got Younger Faces (Than Our Hearts Are Letting On)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pan_with_no_plan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pan_with_no_plan/gifts).



> damnalam fam y’all this is wild idk have fun credits to Nova for some of the hc’s

i. 

 

It happened quickly, like a flash flood: Pearl Harbour was bombed, destroying warships and poking the blazing dumpster fire of a war with a stick covered in gasoline, the army recruitment stations began popping up across the country, and soon enough the legal age to join was 16. 

Bucky stopped school altogether when the bombings happened. The shifts at the docks were increased, as the number of warships manufactured increased sevenfold, and between the tight schedule and studies, he began to struggle and decided pulling in a salary for both himself and Steve was far more important at that point in time. 

One, at this point, must be wondering why someone as young as James Barnes at that particular point in time was putting his own roof over his head and supplying his own food, and the tale, dear reader, is not a happy one, for while Winifred and George Barnes for the most part were pleasurable people, the one thing that they would not tolerate was a queer son.  
Kicking him out of their house had not been an enjoyable affair for any party involved, however they would be shocked to find out that he was fairing reasonably well for a teenager in Brooklyn.  
One must also note he was not only providing for himself, but also Steve Rogers who, after the tragic loss of his mother, had ended up in the position of trying to find a way to keep the apartment he had lived in for many years, and luckily, Bucky could afford to help. 

So Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers, both 16 and 15 respectively, sat holding each other while announcement after announcement played over the stereo in their run down apartment: the war had well and truly arrived in America. 

 

As soon as Bucky dropped out of school, Steve tried to follow, claiming he could work at the docks with him too. Bucky had insisted that Steve stayed in school until he was at _least_ 16, because the Lord them self knew Steve could hardly lift an empty crate let alone a full one. A semi-civilised discussion soon lead into a fully fledged fight, which was a rare occurrence between the two boys. 

“Why can’t you just listen for once in your goddamn life? Stay in school! You don’t need to work!” Bucky had argued angrily, pacing around their small apartment, wary of the paper thin walls their building was cursed with. “I’m pulling in enough to get us by and because we’re working twice as hard now they’re giving us a pay rise!”  
He stopped when Steve spoke in the smallest, most vulnerable voice imaginable, shrinking into himself from where he was perched on the back of their threadbare sofa. 

“I just want to follow you!” 

Bucky stood helplessly in the middle of the apartment, looking at Steve with a mix of confusion and distress.  
“Why?” 

“Because I don’t-“ his breath hitched and he closed his eyes for a second, chest rising and falling jerkily. “Because I don’t want to walk past the docks and see flaming wreckage and panic, I don’t want to get home and listen to the radio, and- and hear your name, on the list of dead- Bucky, I don’t want you to go somewhere I can’t follow.” His voice finished barely as a whisper. 

And, because Bucky while being absolutely hopeless when it came to reading between the lines with Steve he was gifted with a rare softness of dealing with things once said, took one of Steve’s hands lightly in his own when he sat down on the sofa and looked up at the other boy with heart wrenching love in his eyes. 

“Trust me,” he began at an equally quiet volume. “I won’t. End of the line, remember?” 

Steve didn’t reply, but instead slid slowly to sit beside Bucky on the old cushions and buried his face in the crook of the older boy’s neck. Bucky wrapped his remaining arm around the small frame against him, and ignored the shaking he could feel beneath his fingers and the wet tears that dripped onto his linen shirt. 

And as one will already know, in these trying times, one must never make a promise one cannot necessarily keep. 

 

ii. 

One must be wondering, at this point, how on earth two teenage boys came to be living in the same claustrophobic apartment in DUMBO at an age that most would consider far too young to have even began thinking of living anywhere too far from the nest, however extenuating circumstances should be considered. 

On March 10th, 1942, James Buchanan Barnes celebrated his 15th birthday. The day was strikingly sunny for March, and while there were one or two clouds in the sky, the good weather and high spirits could not be at all dampened.  
Or at least by the weather. 

The day fell on the Monday, which meant the day before, the Barnes family and Rogers family joined together to walk through the grimy city streets to the large church for Mass, as per usual when Sarah wasn’t working her endless shifts. While the adults greeted each other with friendly exchanges, the three Barnes girls ran around each other until they were told off for being loud, and Steve and Bucky walked side by side talking quietly, occasionally letting their hands brush against each other in a most innocuous manner. 

Unbeknownst to their parents, the two had become slightly closer than almost all boys their age, and while nothing truly spectacular had happened, they both mutually wished something would. That something, however, was wished for in both of their minds to be a memory to treasure and look back upon fondly in many years to come, which is unfortunately not the case. 

They sat down on the hard wooden pews quietly, Rebecca swinging her legs where she sat next to her brother, and Steve scratching a newly scabbed graze across his cheek, just before the service began as usual. The priest stood up, they sung a few hymns, the two boys occasionally made smart ass remarks to each other about what one of the elders had said, and then the sermon began. 

Father Frederic may not have been the softest priest in the church, but neither of the boys had taken him to be the kind of fire and brimstone preacher that would become overtly spiteful. However, on that Sunday, as Father Frederic began his sermon, both Steve and Bucky noticed his change in tone. 

“It tells us, brothers and sisters, in Genesis 19, of what happened in Sodom and Gomorrah, to the perpetrators of the unnatural and unholy desires in the cities. It says they were punished with eternal fire!” His voice echoed around the church walls, resonating like an echo in a cave. The congregation was completely silent in states of shock or agreement. 

“In Leviticus it tells us that indulging in the acts of homosexuality is an abomination, and that it should be punished! It should be punished with death!”  
His eyes scanned the congregation as though searching for a sign that some evil had entered the church walls, that a sickness had leaked in.  
Bucky moved his hand away from Steve’s and he cringed when the other boys breath hitched, the sudden loss of familiarity beside him like an icy wind blowing in off the harbour. 

“Let no man be mistaken; those who experience these desires can be cured, but those who act upon them are sentenced to the depths of hell.”  
The words seemed to be spoken directly towards the two boys sitting innocently on the hard wood pews. 

They didn’t speak until they had entered the bright day outside again. 

“Disgusting,” Winifred said with a passion. 

“Yes.” Sarah replied in an equally passionate tone. “How can you possibly condemn someone for something as simple as love?” 

The two Barnes’ pulled up short. “Oh Sarah dear, I do hope you’re joking. It’s not love, what those... feel. It’s something wrong with them. You work in a hospital, surely you’d know this?” Winifred asked with sincerity. 

And Sarah Rogers, as much as she’d love to tell them right there and then that many doctors she worked with said there was _nothing_ wrong with homosexuals brains and it was just how people were born, much in the same way one is born with blond hair, decided if she did say anything Steve would be permanently banned from talking to Bucky ever again, and vice versa. 

“Of course I’m joking.” She replied.  
Neither Steve nor Bucky spoke to each other for the rest of the day. 

 

Nor the following day, when Steve had been planing to go to Bucky’s early before school and give him a small book about other worlds in the stars, however it remained wrapped in brown paper beneath Steve’s bed and he walked to school another way. His head hung when he thought about the day before, and how cold the silence between them had felt. If Bucky hadn’t known before, he did _now_ , he _knew_ how Steve thought of him, or other boys as well as girls, and Steve decided he’d rather walk to school alone than with an uncomfortable silence in between them. 

Which is ironically exactly how Bucky felt; Steve was disgusted by him, and was avoiding him, and that the two wouldn’t speak again. So he walked to school alone, and dug his nails into his arm to ground himself. 

“Happy 15th Birthday, faggot.” He whispered to himself before walking through the school gate and facing a day of self destructive thought, distraction, and general helplessness. 

 

They didn’t talk that Tuesday. 

Or Wednesday. 

Or Thursday, or Friday which is when both of their parents noticed something was wrong. Steve wasn’t eating, which was not doing him any good as he had just recovered from a rather nasty cold and needed the nutrition, instead choosing to hide away in his small bedroom and draw; Bucky, on the other hand, wasn’t smiling, laughing, or talking, which was unusual for a boy who, just the week before, seemed to radiate life. 

Sarah decided to leave it until the Monday to ask her boy what was wrong, because if it was between Steve and Bucky they would both sort it out by themselves eventually if they bothered to listen to each other and get the sticks out of their asses.  
Winifred and George, however, asked their son in a very formal discussion involving the two parents sitting on one sofa while their son sat on the other looking like a deer in headlights. 

“James,” George began when Bucky looked at them expectantly. “Your mother and I have noticed you’ve been acting up all week. It’s concerning, and we want to help. That’s why we need to talk about what’s been going on.” 

“We just want you to be okay,” Winifred said softly. “Is it school? Is it friends? Are you scared about what’s been going on in Europe? Is it you and Steve?”  
And while she had been listing things, each making her son look more and more conflicted, at the mention of Steve’s name he burst into tears. 

“Oh darling, what happened?” She asked, placing a hand on his knee. George had stiffened next to her, as the man was not accustomed to dealing with other men showing any form of sadness let alone _actual tears_. 

Bucky shook his head. “He hates me. You’ll hate me.” He whispered shakily. 

“Now now, don’t say that! I’m sure he doesn’t at all! What makes you think we’d hate you too?” 

He sat quietly for a few more moments, letting a sudden wave of anger consume every fibre of his being. He knew what was coming next; may as well go out with a mildly controlled argument. 

“Last week. You said how _disgusting_ queers are, how there’s something _wrong_ with them, how they need to be _fixed_. Well _guess what_ ,” he forced as much malice as he could into the last phrase, finally looking up at his parents. “ _I’m one of them._ ”

Winifred inhaled sharply, the soft look on her face replaced with shock and fear. “Please tell me this isn’t true.” 

He shook his head. 

“You should be ashamed!” George bristled beside his wife, anger spilling over his calm facade like soda after being shaken in a can. “We raised you better than this!”

“Well, maybe you didn’t.” Bucky replied swiftly, quickly matching his fathers anger. 

“We made sure to be the best parents we could be to you and you _insult_ us like this!” George stood up, towering over his son. 

“If you were good parents you wouldn’t be calling me an insult to your precious family name!” Bucky stood up to match his fathers height. 

“You need to be fixed. There’s a place that Sarah will know about, I’m sure of it. They’re gonna _beat_ the queer out of you, boy.” He said in a low, menacing tone. 

Bucky stepped back, moving behind the sofa. “I’d rather die!” He shouted. 

“Boys, please!” Winifred begged, grabbing a hold of her husbands arm before he could cause any more damage to the fragile situation. “George, stop. I have a deal.” 

The two looked at her expectantly. “James. You will do as your father says. You will go and get fixed, _or_ you will leave our house. Immediately.” 

 

And that is how, a week after his 15th birthday, James Buchanan Barnes sat in an alley with his back to a wall on a cold March night with nothing but his school bag and the clothes he had been wearing that day. 

 

iii. 

 

Bucky spent the Saturday hiding in dark corners of the neighbourhood, trying to figure out what he was going to do. He wasn’t willing to drop out of school yet, but he also came to the realisation he would have to begin working soon enough. He’d had enough money in his back pocket to buy a small bread roll but once that it had been finished he began to wonder when his next proper meal would be. 

He wondered what Steve would think of him. Sitting on a fire escape of an abandoned building, writing in the back of one of his school books about what he was going to do now that he had officially been kicked out. 

HOW TO SURVIVE: 

\- find shelter  
\- find a place to work  
\- buy food maybe (start a rations list)  
\- avoid anyone I used to know  
\- probably save up for a train ticket to who knows where (do I really need to find an apartment or can I squat somewhere)

And his masterful plan would have worked as well as a survival plan made by a 15 year old could have if it hadn’t reached ten o’clock on Saturday night and he hadn’t eaten since the previous day, hadn’t had a good nights sleep since the Saturday of the previous week, and was cold to his very core. 

And if Steve Rogers hadn’t been lying in an alley barely breathing, because while Bucky was convinced the world at that point was against him and despised every fibre of his being, he had been raised to be kind hearted and caring, even to those who hated him (or he thought hated him). 

Steve’s face was covered in blood from where his nose had bled across it, making his pale skin look even more pale and his general appearance like something from a horror film.  
His shirt was torn in several places, and Bucky was almost certain he’d broken a rib or two.  
He knelt beside the smaller boy, already dirty trousers gathering more muck as what could only be described as bin juice soaked him at the knees. 

“Steve.” He muttered, shaking the tiny frame. “Steve, wake up.” 

One of Steve’s eyes opened slightly and he let out a pained whimper. “Stop,” he sighed. 

“Steve, c’mon I’m gonna take you home and you’ll never have to see me again, ok? I just wanna make sure you’re safe one last time.” The words made his heart cringe, but he ignored it until Steve looked back up at him in confusion. 

“What’d you mean?” He pushed himself up into a sitting position, clenching his teeth and gasping as piercing pain shot through his ribs. “ _Never see you again?_ Look, I can understand if you hate me because I hate me too-“

“What?” Bucky spluttered. “I don’t hate you! I thought you hated _me_!” 

Steve blinked in confusion. “I don’t. You don’t? Why not?”

“Why would I hate you?” Bucky asked sincerely. “Why would _you_ hate you?”

“Because I’m a fucking _faggot_ , that’s why!” Steve hissed. “You should be beating the shit outta me like those other guys right now!” 

Bucky sat stunned. Steve didn’t hate him. Steve thought he hated him, he thought Steve hated him, they both thought the other hated them for being queer when in reality they had got it _completely wrong_. 

“Well that makes two of us.”  
He would have laughed if Steve hadn’t started coughing up a fit and he remembered that sit was a cold March night and he’d only just recovered from a severe cold. 

“Oh shit, Steve- hang on,” he pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around Steve’s thin frame, being careful to avoid his ribs. “I- you need to get home. What’re you doing out so late?” 

“Could ask the same bout you,” Steve replied, taking his hand before being pulled gently upwards. “I was out because my Ma’s working and I’ve been doing reckless shit all week for fun. You’re just not here to talk me out of it.” 

“And how long were you bleeding in an alleyway for?” 

Steve shrugged. “Depends what the time is.” 

“Last time I checked it was around quarter to ten.” 

Steve’s face went paler, however impossible that may seem. “Shit! My Ma’s gonna be back in fifteen minutes!” 

“Come on. We’ll get ya cleaned up by then.” 

 

They made it through the front door with three minutes to spare, huffing and cursing all the way. Truth be told, it was mostly Steve gritting his teeth and Bucky huffing and cursing because he had no idea how to help the pain, but Steve did say “Shit!” as soon as they walked through the door. 

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Bucky whispered. 

“Why are you whispering?” Steve replied as he was shepherded towards the small bathroom, also whispering. 

“Dunno. It seemed like a time to be quiet.” 

Steve sat on the lid of their toilet, watching as Bucky rifled through the cabinets for a clean rag and antiseptic. He noticed the jittery motions of the older boy’s hands, and the fact he’d had his school bag with him that he’d dumped by the door like he’d come home from school with Steve, and not staggered home with him at ten o’clock. 

The door opening scared them both and Bucky dropped a bottle of Dettol (thankfully, still closed) as Sarah called out, “Steve, dear, why is Bucky’s school stuff at the door?” 

The two awkwardly motioned in mime for a few moments before Steve squinted at the other boy. “Honestly? I’m not sure.”  
Bucky dove behind the shower curtain. 

“There you are- ahg, Steve. Really?” She looked down at her son and rubbed her hands across her face in frustration.  
“Another fight? That’s the second time this week!” 

“ _Second?_ ” Bucky exclaimed before clamping a hand over his mouth. 

Sarah sighed, and Steve froze. There was a beat of silence before, “Bucky, why are you behind the shower curtain?” She inquired. 

He paused. “I’m not?” 

“Come out love, it’s fine if you want to stay the night. I’m assuming you dragged Steve back here then.” 

He hesitantly peaked out from behind the curtain and stepped out of the shower. “Hi, Sarah. Sorry about... turning up randomly at late o’clock.” 

“It’s fine, as long as your parents know where you are,” she smiled. 

“They don’t care where I am.” He replied quickly, instantly regretting it. 

“What’d you mean?” Both the Rogers’ asked with surprise. 

Bucky stood silently as the quiet moment became an awkward silence where he fidgeted his hands and rocked back on his heels.  
“Uh, well,” he laughed awkwardly. “They kinda- well not kinda, very much definitely and finitely, kicked me out.” He shrugged, trying to hide how much he just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry. 

 

“Oh my.” Sarah said eventually. “I hope you don’t mind me prying, but why exactly?” 

“Coz he’s queer, Ma. And so am I.” Steve stood up protectively in front of Bucky, even though he really only came to the shoulders of the other boy. The way that the two looked, however, just _boys_ against the world, was enough to break Sarah’s heart. 

“I always knew you were, Steven. I got nothing against that. But so help me god, Winifred is in for a right bloody talking down.” She huffed. 

“So you’re not mad?” Steve looked confused. 

“Course I’m not. Nothing can change who you are. God made us all, didn’t they? Why would they hate anyone for something like that?” 

“But last week-“

“Don’t listen to everything Father Frederic says, boys. Read the Bible yourself.”  
She relaxed, tone becoming softer. “Bucky, stay here as long as you need. No really, you can.” She interrupted when he began to protest. “Go and get some sleep, both of you. You can share a bed or you can take the couch.”

He looked at Steve, who shrugged, in the way people do when they’d rather not make a decision.  
“I’ll leave you two to sort it out.” Sarah smiled softly. “Steve, when you’re ready, come through to the kitchen and I’ll patch you up.” 

 

The two boys decided to share Steve’s small bed, and once the lights in the apartment switched off, the two faced each other illuminated only by the light of the moon. The city was quiet, save only for the occasional drunken shout and the sound of a car passing. 

“How’d you know?” Bucky asked eventually. His voice was in the between stage of a whisper and a low murmur, occasionally cracking between the two. 

“Know what?” Steve replied in the same tone. 

“That I got kicked out for being...” he trailed off. 

Steve inhaled deeply, shifting under the thin covers. “Your school bag was with you at late ass time, on a Sunday too. You said you were the same as me. I eventually put it together.” 

Bucky nodded and slowly rolled into his back, yet didn’t try to fall asleep. He stared at the ceiling, mind rolling over the events of the past couple of days like waves, picking up sand and churning it before spitting it out in a dirty mess on the shore of his own mind. 

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Bucky eventually murmured matter of factly. 

“Hm?” Steve asked, opening his eyes blearily. 

“My sisters. They weren’t in the house when I left. I didn’t get to say goodbye.” His voice broke and a few tears leaked down past his eyes and onto the pillow, hitting the linen with dull thuds. 

Steve didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t say it was ok, because it wasn’t, it very much wasn’t. 

“What do they think of me? Mom and Dad probably had a field day telling them how much of a disgrace I am.”  
A small damp patch had formed on the pillow, as the tears fell down a glittery stream and congregated beside his temples. 

“You could see them again, I’m certain.” Steve replied. 

“How? When?” Bucky asked hopelessly. 

There was a beat of silence when Steve considered his answer. “I dunno,” he whispered eventually.  
And he gently nudged the other boy’s hand with his own, and Bucky’s breath hitched at the sudden sensation of warmth against his fingertips. He moved his own hand closer to Steve’s, and they lay beside each other, just as they had the last Sunday.  
But this time, neither of them pulled away. 

 

iv. 

 

And while thus concludes the story of how James Barnes was left out cold on the streets of Brooklyn by his own parents, it is almost certainly not even the beginning of the chapter of the boy’s lives titled, “When It All Went To Shit (Quickly, And Horrifyingly, With Little Good To Come Out Of It)”. However, that chapter only truly kicks off with the unfortunately young passing of Sarah Rogers during that Fall.  
Thus was the beginning of the struggle, and while Bucky had been working a few shifts at the docks every week, he now found himself the calamity of working more and giving up study time. 

And then came the debacle of how he’d pull enough money in to get Steve through the winter, which ended in him putting aside a certain amount of his earnings each week in order to have a backup supply in the very likely case that Steve needed medication.  
They also decided they would share a bed again, for they had stopped after a few weeks of Bucky being in the apartment. They would only share a bed for warmth of course, and it had no other meaning than that, which would have been fine if the two hadn’t been so mad about each other yet so afraid to do anything.  
That was, until, neither of them could possibly keep the, god forbid, _feelings_ deep down in the dark for much longer. 

 

“Steve, you can’t keep doing this,” Bucky sighed when the younger boy stumbled home with a cut across his cheekbone and one eyebrow, other bruises hiding beneath his shirt. 

“I had-“

“If you say you ‘had them on the ropes’ so help me Steven Rogers I will implode.” He cut him off, grabbing the antiseptic, clean cloths, and bandages they always kept in the kitchen _somewhere_.  
Steve glared at him from where he sat on a small kitchen stool, and crossed his arms across his chest moodily. Bucky knew Steve was trying to look intimidating but at 5”2 it made him look like a grumpy kitten, like one that had gone out into the rain against all warnings and was now acting bitterly because of their own choices. 

“Come on,” Bucky sighed, kneeling across from the small boy. He began cleaning the cut on Steve’s cheekbone gently, wiping blood off his pale face. “What’d they do this time.” 

Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna freak out no matter what I say.” 

Bucky frowned, tenderly pressing a cloth covered in rubbing alcohol to the red gash. Steve inhaled sharply, flinching at the sudden sting. 

“I know, I know- shouldn’t get into fights if you hate cleaning the mess up.” Bucky looked at the cut, biting his lip in frustration. It didn’t really need stitches, and it had stopped bleeding by that point anyway, clotting instead.  
“You never answered my question.” 

“Because you’re gonna get all high and mighty about not picking fights and all that shit!” Steve argued back. 

“Come on, Steve, not now,” Bucky sighed desperately. 

“Fine,” he huffed. “You wanna know? They were calling me a _fairy_. Yes, asshat, I know I shouldn’t have,” Steve cut off the other boy, voice devoid of any kind of regret. “But I couldn’t help it!” 

“Steve, I know, I just- I worry about you, ok?” He cleaned around Steve’s eyebrow, avoiding looking into the other boy’s eyes. Steve, by that point, had lost all the energy from the fight before and looked more tired than angry. 

“I know.” Steve said, hand reaching up to where he could see Bucky’s shaking as he brought the cloth away, covered in small patches of blood. He held the other boy’s hand gently, as though it were as fragile as a butterflies wings, thumb rubbing against Bucky’s palm. “I know.” 

Bucky, against every fibre in his being saying no, looked up to where the blond sat looking at him softly.  
And while his heart said _this is it this is the moment you should tell him how you feel_ his mind said _clean that cut first or else he’ll die_ , to which his heart replied _you’re a pussy, get you’re shit together_ to which his mind quipped _later, or maybe never, we’ll see_.  
So Bucky pulled away softly, pressing the rubbing alcohol to the smaller boy’s eyebrow gingerly, while his internal conflict raged like a lion in a cage made of needles (and while the situation is improbable it does give one the right mental image for the situation; the author does not recommend you cage lions in a cage with thousands of needles). 

“There,” Bucky whispered as he slowly placed the cloth back down beside him. He looked up at Steve and tried to avoid any form of eye contact because _that would make it real_ but of course that didn’t work.  
Instead he found himself drowning in a sea of emotions that had stayed calm far too long, and now the waves were raging in a storm inside his brain, all the while he was stuck out in the middle of a forget-me-not blue sea. And the sea was staring back. 

So in a spur of the moment decision, Bucky quickly and lightly pressed his lips to Steve’s.  
It was hardly even there. The touch was light and short and yet both boys felt as though they were on fire. 

It was Steve who leant in again, and this time he wasn’t as fearful or hesitant. Instead it was stronger, but not overly forceful, rough around the edges like a sheet of paper ripped from a notebook.  
Steve thought it was probably too sloppy for anyone but at least he was trying, as it was the thought that counted.  
Bucky thought it was the best kiss in his (admittedly, rather short) life. 

 

v. 

And then came Pearl Harbour and the bubble of peace around them shattered like glass. 

And Bucky enlisted before he could be drafted, in some feeble attempt at bravery. Steve said he was proud, but the hint of jealousy in his voice was unmissable. 

The night before he shipped out, after he’d left Steve to go and attempt enlisting again, Bucky decided to go back to his parents one last time. His chest tightened with every step towards his parents house, from each familiar crack in the pavement or the sound of the McGray’s cat meowing from the alleyway, to the kids fighting in the house two doors down about something stupid until Mrs Elliot sorted it out.  
The street was still. The night was quiet.  
He knocked on the door. 

“Coming!” He heard a voice shout, and he panicked. It was a mistake; he should just leave. That would be best for everyone-

“Bucky?” Becca whispered. They stood staring at each other in disbelief, and he nearly went to hug her before his mother appeared in the corridor. 

“Who is it love- oh.” She said when her eyes fell on Bucky standing in the doorway. 

“Hey, Ma.” He replied weakly. 

“Rebecca, get to your room.” She instructed. “George!” 

George was far less subtle about his intentions, and the minute he saw his son he stormed up to him and simply said, “Get out. Now.” 

“Dad-“

“No fancy army uniform is going to change what you did, son.” 

“Please, just let me see my sisters one last time. I ship out tomorrow morning.” He couldn’t keep the desperation out of his voice any longer. 

Before George could respond, Winifred stepped in. “Not Alice or Grace. You’ll just upset them. You can talk to Rebecca for five minutes. Here. Don’t step a foot inside this house.” 

When Winifred called for Rebecca to come back, she ran straight past her parents and Bucky swept her up into a hug, as though trying to make up for the past two years. 

“Becca, I don’t have much time.” He whispered urgently when she let go. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes with an intensity that left her quiet. “Tomorrow I’m shipping out for England, I’m going to the front. I don’t know if I’m gonna make it back alive.” 

“What-“

“I can’t explain everything now. You just need to know that I love you, ok? I love you and Alice and Grace, and I just want you to... to live. Be brave. Be bold. You’re amazing and kind and so, _so_ clever. Never forget it.”

“Bucky-“

“Tell Alice she needs to continue with science if she wants, no matter what Mom and Dad say, she can have my textbooks, they have a few extra notes in them for her. Tell Grace to keep up with her ballet, because she’s gonna go places, I’m sure of it. Do that, please?” 

“Why did you leave?” She asked in a small voice. “Why? We get back and Mom and Dad said you’d abandoned us for selfish, unforgivable deeds.” 

Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “You’ve gotta know that’s not true.” 

“I want to. I want to believe you. But I need your side of the story.” She said firmly. 

“This,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter he’d been carrying with him for a while, in case he ever saw Becca again. “Should explain everything. I hope. You’ll know when to open it.” 

George reappeared around the corner. “It’s time to say goodbye. Don’t come back here again, James.” 

“I won’t, George.” He replied coldly, and before Rebecca could protest, the door was closed with a slam and he was left standing like he had been two years prior. 

 

He got home late with a bottle of cheap whisky. They drank a little too much, relishing the burn of the alcohol on their throats and the terrible aftertaste it left behind. Bucky forgot what had happened at his old house for a while, instead living in the moment of hazy light and shit scotch, while Steve laughed a little louder and spoke a little sharper.

Eventually all the laughter turned into play fighting, and that turned into messing around, which turned into something more heartfelt, although Steve would be the first to say it. 

 

Bucky was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling while Steve lazily traced patters across his heart, the sheets tangled around their legs, when he murmured it in the darkness. 

“I love you.” 

Bucky’s breath caught in his chest. Suddenly the drunken haze he had been enjoying was washed away in three words, leaving him cold. He didn’t know what to say, so instead his mouth made words before his brain could react. “Don’t say that.” 

Steve leaned on his elbow and looked at Bucky with a confused expression. “What- what’d you mean?” He asked quietly. 

“Just... don’t.” Bucky sighed, closing his eyes. 

“Why?” Steve whispered, moving away from the other boy. 

“Because if you say that then tomorrow, or today, or whatever it is right now, it just becomes fucking _real_ Steve. It all becomes real and I don’t want it to be because I’m so fucking scared, Steve. I’m so scared and I just-“ he let out a shaky, uneven breath. “I’m not coming back. Steve, I’m not coming back.” He whispered. 

A few tears rolled down Steve’s face onto the mattress, landing with dull thuds between them. “No- no no no, don’t say that please don’t say that.” 

Bucky rolled over and looked up at the other boy, who collapsed beside him and placed his hand on the side of Bucky’s face. Bucky tried to memorise every piece of that moment, the way Steve’s thumb traced gently against his jaw, how his thin fingers brushed against the strands of hair falling in his face. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Bucky murmured, closing his eyes again. 

“You’re not dying out there. Not on my watch.” Steve muttered firmly. “End of the line, remember?” 

Bucky nodded, kissing Steve’s wrist lightly. “End of the line.”  
He pulled the smaller boy closer to himself, and Steve’s lips brushed against his collarbone gently, as though it could stop the world from coming for them. 

 

“I’ll love you forever.” Steve whispered the next morning before Bucky left. He was sitting on their bed in the grey half light, Bucky’s nightshirt pulled on from where it had been on the floor, falling to where his fingertips rested against his legs. Bucky turned around for one last look, before swooping in and giving the smaller boy a kiss. 

“I love you. More than words can describe.” He whispered when they broke apart. 

“I’ll be waiting for you when you get back, ok? I’ll be here.” Steve said hopefully. “Come home to me, Buck.” 

“I promise.” 

 

And as everyone surely knows, one must never make a promise one cannot keep. 

 

vi. 

 

“Thank you for volunteering.” Erskine patted Steve on the shoulder. 

“No problem.” Steve replied with determination, looking intensely at the dark green tube he was about to climb into. 

“Let’s hope with a younger subject it goes well.” Peggy’s bright red lips pulled into a line of concern. 

 

Steve Rogers liked Peggy Carter a lot. She was strong and brave and beautiful. Steve thought if he was just ten years older, and not already in love with someone else, they might have even had something. 

Peggy Carter liked Steve Rogers a lot. He was fiery and caring and cute. Peggy thought if he wasn’t _clearly_ in love with someone from wherever, and she didn’t already have her heart stolen by another blonde, they probably would have had something. 

 

_Dearest S,_

_Never come here. It’s horrible. I know you want to fight the good fight and all, but please - do me a favour. Stay where you are. Stay safe. You can’t join the military anyway. Be thankful they ain’t letting you._

_Every time the lads in the crew start talking about their sweethearts I close myself off, but you know that I’m thinking of you. I think of you a lot. The curve of your lips when you smile, or the way we used to sit on the rooftop together in the summer. Do you remember on your birthday last year, when we went up there to watch the fireworks? And once everyone had left we sat under the stars and we kissed like there wasn’t care in the world? I think about it because it’s one of the only things keeping me sane right now._

_I might send over some stockings from one of the shops. Bright pink. I bet they’d suit your eyes. If not, give them to Grace for ballet. But I still think they’d look nice on your noodle legs. Hahaha. Please don’t kill me for that._

_I miss you, sweetheart. More than words can describe. I want you to know that I’ll love you forever, until the end of the line._

_From,  
B _

 

Bucky Barnes was 17 in 1944.  
Bucky Barnes was a Sergeant at 17.  
Bucky Barnes had seen men blown into chunks, had watched friends mowed down with bullets, had been living in the roughest conditions that the European front could offer since the April of 1944 and yet nothing could have prepared him for the tanks that rolled over the dark hills spitting blue light like poison at the troops.  
Instead he sent a silent prayer of thanks to God that Steve was still at home and safe. 

A terrible assumption to make, really, because Steve was, at that time, somewhere in Kansas. 

 

_Dearest B,_

_I’ve included a drawing of home. It’s so lonely without you. I miss waking up with your arms around my waist or how messy your hair was in the mornings. I miss how you used to pick me up from the back and swing me around the apartment when something good happened, and you’d laugh when I squirmed because your hands were cold from outside.  
I miss you, B. I worry about you every day, and how I’m not there to make sure you’re ok. I just want the war to end so you can come back home. Come back to me, B. _

_I love you, so, so much.  
S. _

 

“We have the information from New York,” a man in a sharp wool suit announced. “The test was successful; their subject was 16.” 

Doctor Zola looked up from behind a mountain of equipment. “So, the younger the subject? Find me the youngest man there.” He instructed another assistant in a white lab coat. 

 

To their credit, no one actually knew how old their sergeant was; all they knew was he that was young.  
So when the masked men came for a new subject, scanning the cages with mysterious devices, claiming to need to find a young subject, Bucky clenched his fists in preparation for a fight he was not willing to lose, but would end up losing anyway. 

The men gathered at the front, comparing results that displayed on the devices, and began making their was up to the small cage that Bucky was standing in. 

“Sarge,” Morita whispered. “How old are you?”

“17,” he replied quietly. 

“Oh _shit_ ,” Gabe moved to stand in front of him. “They ain’t taking a kid, not on my fucking watch.” 

Which was impossible because of _course_ they were taking a kid if they so wished. Bucky gave the 107th credit, he really did; they put up a decent fight against some heavily armed guards, however sticks and stones eventually break everyone’s bones, but the sight of a teenager being beaten until he couldn’t stand was something that shattered their souls.  
Because Bucky tried to resist. But that meant he was coughing up blood and too weak to stand before the real tests began. 

 

“Oh _shit_ ,” Peggy sighed as Steve made his way over to Colonel Philips. “Here we go.” 

“I just need one name,” she heard as she walked over. Of course, _of course_ he had someone on the front. A friend, a brother maybe. And because it was Steve Rogers, he was absolutely _not_ giving up on them. She mentally prepared herself for what was coming. 

 

“Steve, you heard the Colonel, your friend is most likely dead!” Peggy sighed in a mixture frustration and resignation because she already knew she was following that boy to where he needed to go. 

“You don’t know that.” 

Of course he’d find a even the slightest possibility of something and run with it. Peggy almost wished she was 16 again and had the same hope he did.  
“He’s devising a strategy-“

“By the time he’s done that, it could be too late. You told me you thought I was meant for more than this. Did you mean that?” He looked up at her with determination and her heart melted. _Aw shit, here I go following another blonde into trouble I have a problem._

“Every word.” 

 

_Steve’s sitting against the bed with a sketchpad, charcoals spread out across the floor as to not stain the sheets. His brow is furrowed in thought, head tilted to one side._

_When he hears Bucky, his head shoots up quickly, pencil falling to his side._

_“Hey,” Bucky manages to say in a hoarse voice, cracked at the edges like a broken mirror._

_“Buck,” Steve stands up, making his way quietly across the floorboards that would usually creak, but there’s no sound this time. “You gotta get out.”_

_“Why?” He asks in a confused tone, and it doesn’t help that the fucking room is sepia toned and it’s so unnaturally quiet, not even the sound of traffic in the background._

_“Because you know what’s coming,” Steve whispers, pressing a gentle hand to Bucky’s chest, feeling his heartbeat._

_“Do I?” He sighs as Steve looks up at him, but there’s something wrong with his eyes. There’s a moment where their lips dance together lightly, just a touch or so, before Steve speaks again._

_“Yes.”_

_And then the scene changes, and the tranquil sepia is replaced with a battleground, mud and blood around them. Bucky turns just for a shell to hit the ground somewhere nearby and mud to go flying and rain down around them.  
When his hand reaches for Steve’s, he finds nothing. Instead there’s a million stars dimmed as the war rages on around him. Men are falling, dying, and he can’t tell if it’s a dream or part of a memory. _

_And then he sees him in the midst of it, and their eyes catch. A smile plays on his lips before his torso is torn apart by bullets and a scream escaped Bucky’s lips._

_“Steve!”_

He woke up to more pain and wondered if he should have stayed in the dream. 

 

“Angie, do you have a minute?” Peggy said quietly to the nurse, who was currently sitting with a tin mug filled with what looked like warm water and something that possibly resembled a teabag. 

“Oh yeah, please.” Angie sighed, absentmindedly tracing a fingernail along the metal table. “What’s up English?” 

Peggy sat down across from the other woman. “I’m about to do something really, _really_ stupid.” 

The blonde looked up at her in a mixture of intrigue and boredom at the predictability of the situation.  
“Of course you are. Spill,” she instructed in her I’m-a-Nurse-Mr-Wounded-Soldier-Listen-To-Me-I’m-Trying-To-Help-Stop-Being-In-Pain voice. 

Peggy groaned and rubbed her face. “I’m following a 16 year old into the midst of a battleground to rescue the captured 107th.”

“Blond? Tall? Devastatingly attractive for a 16 year old?”  
Peggy gave her a strange look when Angie asked the last question.  
“Oh c’mon Pegs, you know what I mean,” she said with a hint of mild disgust in her voice. 

“Yes, all of the above.” 

“Oh, darling. When will you learn not to follow blondes like me into danger.” Angie pouted, reaching across the table for Peggy’s hand. 

Peggy inhaled deeply, shrugging. “Probably never.” She wove her fingers in between Angie’s. 

They shared a private look, sweet and honest before Angie said, “come back to me, English.”

“I always do, Ange.” Peggy replied, and if they had been alone she would have given the blond a kiss, however it was 1944 and that would have been unacceptable. 

 

Sergeant Barnes.

James Buchanan. 

32557038.

Over and over again like a mantra.  
_Keep it up, pall,_ he thought to himself sarcastically.  
In between the haze of contradictions that seemed to be ruling his life at that point in time ( _too hot, too cold, crying or laughing? Pain, or was it pleasant?_ ) he dreamt. Or remembered. Or something. 

Sergeant Barnes. 

James Buchanan. 

32557038.

 

Steve’s there sometimes. Sometimes it’s a memory and Bucky’s being kissed senseless and drowning in the taste of the other boy (cheap whisky, mint, sunshine) or Steve’s being torn apart by bullets or falling down a ravine or the worst dreams of all; he’s the one they took away, kicking and screaming, to strap down onto the table Bucky was stuck to. 

Sergeant Barnes. 

James Buchanan. 

32557038.

 

There’s one scientist, the name slipped his mind but never the face, who congratulated Bucky every day in his sadistic manner for _surviving_. 

Always along the lines of, “Well done, Sergeant, this is day 32,” or something like it. If Bucky could remember how to create rational sentences he’d be screaming about how he’d rather have died after day one.  
Maybe he did, in the beginning. He only says his own serial number now. 

Sergeant Barnes. 

James Buchanan. 

32557038.

 

Serial number. It makes him angry. He was branded like an animal, off to the slaughterhouse. Maybe that’s just what he was; a pawn in the game. He was just destined to die in the cold lab. 

He thought about what he’d said to Steve on the last night he’d seen him, how he wasn’t coming back. He wanted to go and relive the entire night up until that point. Maybe cutting out seeing his parents.  
He wanted to go back and just _feel_ Steve’s skin under his hands, or Steve’s lips on his. Just to go back, and maybe even tell Steve he loved him again. And again. And never stop because _he was going to die out here and he never said it enough_. 

Sergeant Barnes. 

James Buchanan. 

32557038.

 

“Wait, you know what you’re doing?”  
Timothy was going to be the first to admit the guy dressed in American flag paraphernalia was probably the least qualified to break a few hundred men out of a secret Nazi death base but here they were. 

“Yeah.” The other guy shrugged. “I’ve knocked out Adolf Hitler over 200 times.” 

He sighed. Of course. The guy didn’t look older than 18, and yet he had broken into the base, just released _all_ the man from inside the cages and was off to find- 

He stopped in his tracks and Gabe ran into him from behind. 

“Come on, man.” He muttered. “We gotta get outta here.” 

“Did you _see_ that guy?” 

Gabe raised an eyebrow. “You mean the crazy American flag who was built like an oak? Sure, hard to miss him.” He said dryly. 

Dum Dum gave him a blank look. “Yes, asshole, of course I did, which is why I noticed he wasn’t older than 18, spoke with a Brooklyn accent, and was _desperate_ to find our very own Sergeant Barnes.” 

He realisation hit Gabe like a truck. “Oh my _God_.” 

 

Sergeant Barnes. 

James Buchanan. 

32557-

 

“Bucky,” Steve whispered through the dark. And there he was; alive, mumbling his own serial number over and over again. Steve tried not to throw up, instead gritted his teeth and ran over to where the other boy was lying, strapped to the table.  
_Fuck this,_ he thought to himself and ripped the straps off, as though they were nothing. 

“Bucky, it’s me, it’s Steve.” He murmured, as Bucky’s eyes took a few moment to focus. 

“Steve?”  
Bucky wasn’t sure if he was alive. Maybe he had died. Steve was _there_ , but he was stronger and _bigger_ , and it was confusing and he was certain he was dead. Bucky Barnes had died and gone to heaven.  
_Haha, fuck you Mom and Dad who said I’d go to hell, now my boyfriends a beefcake_ , he thought to himself. 

And then he realised he wasn’t. “Steve.” 

“I thought you were dead,” the other boy said, holding him up. Bucky heard the break in Steve’s voice, and all he wanted to do was hold him and just make the war _stop_. 

“I thought you were smaller,” He replied and if his throat hadn’t hurt as much as it did, he would have laughed. 

 

They broke out, guns blazing, men fighting back. Bucky found the rest of his squad when someone shouted “Look at that fellas, Sarge is back!” And he was. 

And then they walked. 

And walked. 

And walked. 

Steve and Bucky soon split off from each other, Steve at the front leading and making sure everyone was keeping up, Bucky and a few guys with medical training patching up what they could. 

When they eventually walked back to the base, he nudged Steve with his elbow, trying to smile through how tired he was. 

 

Steve shepherded him off to the medical tent when everyone was dispersing for debriefing or to park the tanks they’d stolen, “Or to get checked up in the medical tent, Buck.”

He ended up sitting on a stool across from an energetic blonde nurse who looked about as tired as he felt. And while she was nice it was clearly getting difficult to stay that way. 

“Don’t try acting sweet and pleasant, you look like you’re hardly standing up.” Bucky sighed when she sat across from him. 

She visibly relaxed. “Thank _fuck_.” She reached for a cotton swab with antiseptic dabbed onto the end. “I would say don’t flinch but you don’t look like the kinda guy to fuss about a little bit of stinging.” 

He shook his head, before she pressed it to the grazes on his face. A few minutes later, she spoke again.  
“So tell me, Sergeant Barnes.” She muttered while measuring his blood pressure. “You got a sweetheart at home?” 

“Could ask the same for you, Miss..?” 

“Angie Martinelli.” She replied. “I asked first.” 

Bucky side eyed her, and a grin danced at the corner of his mouth. “Ok. If I said I didn’t-“ 

“I wouldn’t believe you at all, you filthy liar. Doesn’t have to be at home. Could be here,” she shrugged. 

Bucky froze, the blood draining from his face. 

“Ok, that’s interesting.” Angie raised an eyebrow and smiled curiously. “You didn’t get angry, nor did you protest. You didn’t assume it was another _nurse_ here either, which is what I meant, but now I’m thinking you-“ 

“Don’t.” He warned dangerously. 

“You think that can scare me?” She replied with a deadpan expression. “I am a nurse in the military. Go on,” she continued. “I won’t tell a soul because I actually have a teaspoon of basic human decency. You’re a good soldier from what I’ve heard, and I’m not gonna be the one to take that away.” 

Bucky watched Angie for a few moments before sighing and rubbing his face vigorously. “I don’t give a shit about my reputation. It’s his. He’s this fucking _hero_ and if the wrong person found out it would just...” he trailed off and looked up at the slightly mouldy canvas above him. 

When he looked back at Angie, Bucky noticed the woman was standing still, watching him. “Oh my god.” She said in a small voice. “It’s Captain Steve Rogers.” 

 

“Peggy,” Angie said excitedly when she walked into her tent in the dead of night. 

“Angie,” Peggy replied, sitting on her roll up mattress with an intrigued expression on her face, and despite the half light, Angie could tell it was there. 

“Peggy, I’m breaking a very secret pact when I tell you this but nothing says ‘fuck the useless American Dream’ like it-“

“Ok-“

“And Barnes is gonna be out for my blood if he finds out I’ve told you but I just-“ 

“Angie.” Peggy said firmly. “Please just tell me.” 

“Ok,” Angie sat across from the woman and looked at her like they were two twelve year olds at a sleepover, up past their bedtime, talking about crushes.  
“Captain America has a _fella_ ,” she whispered. “Him and Barnes.”

And it dawned on Peggy. Steve had someone, not at home but _here_. And that was why he’d been so determined to break into the factory, to the point where he nearly went alone, and why he’d been so scared when he found out about the 107th, and everything was falling into place and _Steve Rogers was in love with a soldier_. 

 

vii. 

 

“Ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?” 

They were sitting in a bar somewhere in London, while the newly formed Howling Commandos were getting gradually more tipsy and the music was getting louder. Bucky sighed, sipping scotch and ignoring the burning in his veins that had never quite left since the HYDRA lab. 

“Nah,” he exhaled. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight.”  
They made eye contact and shared a look that said more than any words could.  
“I’m following him.” 

Steve smiled softly, and Bucky wanted to capture the look and keep it forever.  
He felt the tone was too serious for the lighthearted atmosphere around them, so instead he changed the subject.  
“But you’re keeping the outfit right?” Bucky nudged him with a smirk painted across his features. 

“Y’know,” Steve replied in an equally flirty tone. “It’s kinda grown on me.” 

And then the woman in the red dress walked in, and the entire bar went quiet for a moment. Steve stood up and Bucky followed because whoever this was, they were strikingly beautiful and clearly very, very important. 

“Captain,” she nodded. 

“Agent Carter,” he replied. 

“Ma’am,” Bucky said awkwardly. 

“Howard has some equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Bucky stood confused in between the two, ignoring the panic in his chest. Steve really _was_ mingling with the top dogs then. Oh, if they ever found out he was in far deeper water than ever.  
Carter’s eyes observed the two of them quickly and he felt as though her eyes were burning into his soul. It only lasted a moment before she spoke again. 

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty.” Her lips twitched into something like a grin. 

“You don’t like music?” Bucky asked and immediately regretted it. 

“I do, actually. I might even, when all this is over, go dancing.”

“What’re you waiting for?” He rolled on his heels looking around the bar. She could have her pick of most of them, and yet. 

“The right time, the right place, my own partner. 0800, Captain.” She stalked away.  
Bucky was left wondering what on earth he just witnessed and how Steve wasn’t as confused as he was. 

“Who was that?” He looked at Steve with a mixture of confusion and fear. 

He chuckled. “Peggy. I see she’s scared you.” 

Bucky shrugged as though to say, _what else was supposed to happen?_

“Don’t worry.” He patted the older boy’s shoulder. “That means she’s doing her job right.” 

 

Sergeant James Barnes became more and more wary of Agent Peggy Carter as the weeks went by. Each time he was with Steve, wether they were sitting around the campfire together with the rest of the Howlies or planning a covert mission in the headquarters she seemed to be scanning him or watching him as though he’d suddenly break and kill everyone in the room, or maybe just throw a knife at a wall. He wasn’t, but the way she’d look away, or sometimes not and instead just watch him carefully, made him want to. 

It made him wonder why. He hadn’t wronged her, or not intentionally, and if so he’d rather she told him than continue to scan him as though she knew his deepest, darkest secrets. 

He’d mentioned it to Steve, but he’d laughed it off, saying Peggy was just an interesting person like that.  
Even Howard had said she was about as confusing as any woman could get. 

He’d noticed that her and one Angie Martinelli were reasonably close as they seemed to spend the scarce amounts of spare time they had together with each other, and Bucky decided it was probably best to talk to her. 

As it turned out, Steve was having the same sort of problem with a different party who was no less involved.  
He felt as though at any moment, Angie was going to burst out laughing at him, or slap him, or both. He felt it was a little strange (ok, _very_ strange) as the two had never really spoken that much but it was putting him on edge. 

And so off to two marched towards where Angie was in the unusually quiet nurses tent, to set the record straight with her first, and prepare themselves for the second hurdle.  
Bucky suspected they’d find her at her usual place in the nurses tent, each small division separated by a few pieces of canvas. 

And as he pushed aside the canvas broadly, he found not only Angie Martinelli buy also Peggy Carter, both of whom looked unduly flustered and Peggy had clearly been pushed off her in a hurry. 

“What’re you doing?” He asked as Steve peaked his head around over Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Not taxes,” Peggy said quickly while at the same time Angie said “not kissing.” 

“We weren’t doing taxes or kissing.” Peggy stood up straight. “None of that was happening. Taxes? Nope. None. No paperwork about taxes here. Also no kissing.” 

“There are very obvious lipstick stains on Angie’s collar.” Steve deadpanned. 

The two women glared at him. “Fuck off, Steve.” They said in unison. 

“Wow, hey, what the _hell_ is going on? Why am I the only one asking this?” Bucky gestured between them. “We came here to ask why Angie doesn’t seem to like Steve and why _you_ ,” he pointed at Peggy. “Don’t like _me_.” 

The two woman stood still for a few moments before Angie snorted and the two started laughing wildly. Steve looked at Bucky in confusion and he shrugged. 

“You two,” Peggy wheezed. “Are so uptight all the time.” 

“Oh my- boys you act like you’re walking on glass,” Angie said between giggles. 

“I’m waiting until you two loosen up and start acting like... normal.” Peggy sighed. “You think anyone is going to care about America’s icon being in love with a hot slice of ass like _that_?” 

“Well yeah-“

“Shut up Steve and let her have her moment.” Angie rasped. 

“You’re like mice around a cat. Stop. Just be more...”

“Teenagers in love?” Bucky asked.  
Angie nodded at that. 

“Yes. Good.” 

“Ok,” Steve nodded. “How bout a deal?”  
They looked at him curiously.  
“You two should as well. If we are, so are you.” 

Angie kissed Peggy on the cheek. “Deal, Captain.”

And so it went on the next mission with the Commandos, Bucky was about to climb up to a higher vantage point to set up his rifle when Steve pulled him in for a quick kiss on the side of his mouth “for luck.”  
Needless to say, the Howling Commandos didn’t mind in the least, and instead teased the two mercilessly. Steve asked why they were only picking on their Captain and Sergeant and not the local Agent and her nurse, but Dum Dum replied that teasing Peggy was a death sentence. If Peggy ever found out he’d said that, she would agree. 

 

“Tell me about home.”  
Bucky was resting his head on Steve’s chest in the quiet of their tent. The only noises outside were the occasional rustling of leaves in the tall trees or the hooting of an owl.  
Steve’s fingers continued to play with Bucky’s hair, and he noticed how much longer it was than a few months prior. 

“What about home?” Steve replied. He stared up at the darkness above him, trying to picture it and not tarnish it with the horrors of that day. 

“Tell me about it when we get back. Tell me about the future.” 

Steve smiled. “We get a new apartment somewhere nicer. A large one. We paint it ourselves and pick a colour scheme that we like. Peg and Ange live next door and you and Angie go back to being little shits together.”  
Bucky laughed at that, lightly. 

“We look up the laws about what we can actually do at 16 and 17 because I’m pretty sure we’ve broken most of them.” Steve chuckled. 

“I bet you join a load of movements. Use your big fancy title to promote women’s rights or decriminalising queerness.” 

“Yeah, probably. Are you gonna bring the bail money?” 

Bucky shook his head slightly. “Nope. I’m gonna be with you in the prison cell.” He pressed a kiss to Steve’s jaw.  
They lay listening to the trees for a few minutes, trying to savour the peace before they had to get up again. Bucky thought for a while, trying to block out the dull throb in his veins that had never really left since being in the lab in the HYDRA base. 

“Ever wonder if we’re just blind?” He whispered after a while. 

Steve shifted beneath him. “What’d you mean?” 

“That we’re just teenagers and we’ve been left to stumble through this? Through,” he sighed. “Everything. Life. Love. War.” 

“We were.” Steve said, and it hung in the air between them. “But we’re gonna be fine, yeah? End of the line?” 

“Yeah.” Bucky nodded, although he didn’t believe it in the least. 

 

“Jesus,” Colonel Philips sighed in resignation. He stood in the (currently almost empty) ‘Howling Commandos Honorary Mad Fun Tent’ which was merely an old tent that the Commandos had claimed for time off missions.  
“Do you two always act so..?”  
He trailed off, motioning between Peggy and Angie who, at that moment, decided to wrap a leg around the brunette and stare the Colonel dead in the eyes with a wicked grin. 

“So, what? _Homosexual_ , Colonel?” Angie asked in the most flamboyant tone she could manage. 

He nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Nope,” Peggy smiled. “Only when we can get away with it.” 

“In this world,” he said firmly. “You can’t.” 

The two looked at him in blank annoyance. “Well that just _really_ screws the open can of worms. What are we going to tell our adopted sons?” 

“I’m sorry, Agent?” He spluttered. 

“Our sons. The Howlies. We are their Moms. We will protect our boys. Don’t go telling them about the world now, Colonel,” Angie said sweetly. “They think they can get away with anything.” She stage whispered, and winked in an over dramatic fashion. 

“Christ almighty,” he groaned. “Agent Carter, you’re needed in the briefing room. Miss Martinelli, they’re gonna need you in the nurses tent soon, because your _adopted sons_ are about to return from the Alps.” 

“M’kay,” Angie skipped away through the mud and snow, swishing her skirt with much razzmatazz. 

“That girl of yours is Broadway material,” Colonel Philips muttered as Peggy walked beside him. “Wasted talent if she doesn’t at least try.” 

Peggy laughed. “Don’t tell her that, she might just do that when all this is over.” 

 

And the briefing went as usual, the ordinary dull repetitiveness of old maps and older files and ‘we’re gonna win’ and ‘fuck yeah America’ from the serious men in even more serious suits. She said her part when it was called for, nearly punched two men in the jaw for being twats, and wholly appreciated the interruption of someone shouting “they’re back!” 

“Agent Carter, you may be excused,” Philips said and she darted out of the tent in a professional darting manner. 

She helped shove the newly captured POW’s into the back of a van where they’d be taken for questioning later, and stood watching them proudly disappear into the distance on a muddy track. The feeling of success wore off as soon as she reached the nurses tent to check on the rest of the Howling Commandos. 

Steve sat on a stool in the corner, blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he stared blankly at the floor. 

“Steve?” She whispered, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Steve, what’s going on?”  
She’d seen him cut off like this before, but Bucky was always there to wrap an arm around his shoulders, or talk to him in a way that only he knew how, or _something_.  
Steve didn’t respond. 

“Steve, where’s Bucky? Was he injured? Angie’s gonna take good care of that-“ 

He suddenly shook his head, and wrapped his arms tighter around himself. When he spoke, his voice came out in a hoarse whisper. “Dead.” 

It took her a few moments to respond. “Dead?” 

“He fell. Peggy, I could’ve saved him, I could have done _more_ but he’s fucking dead now and I can’t do _shit_.” 

 

That night, while the camp was quiet and the city was all but a distant glow on the horizon, Peggy cradled Angie to her chest while the other woman sobbed. 

“He was so _young_ ,” she whispered. “He was just a boy.” 

Peggy bit her lip to contain the emotion that threatened to spill out over her hardened facade. “I know,” she stroked Angie’s hair. “I know.” 

 

_Dearest S,_

_There are so many things I need to tell you. It’s just that every time I try to write it down they fizzle out and disappear like ash in the wind. I hope someday I can tell you everything but for now, I think it’s impossible._

_Once this is all over, I think we should travel the world. Let’s go and see things. Do things._  
_I think you should use that big heart of yours for something good. Let’s join a queer movement. Imagine the lads on Capitol Hill then, America’s golden boy doing all the wrong things._  
_You’d be able to hold your own in a fight. I think that’d stop my sorry ass worrying about you so much._

_You said once, that you were scared of what we have because of how young we are and what that could mean. I know what you mean. The world is filled with horror stories of people who think they’ve found love but haven’t._ _I don’t think that will ever be us. I love you more than I can describe. Don’t be scared. Embrace the future. I’ll be right there with you, til the end of the line._

_Love,  
B_

 

Steve crashed into the ice with the letter in his pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> oh man was that fun I hope so whatever PART 2 AND 3 ARE COMING TO A SCREEN NEAR YOU at some point anyway as always kudos comment bookmark whatever love ya bye Rogue OUT


End file.
